A Different Ending
by Faran1078
Summary: What if the plane hadn't crashed?


Flight 815 taxied uneventfully up to the gate at LAX. He grabbed their stuff from the overhead and held her carry on out to her. She looked at it disdainfully turning her back and walking down the aisle away from him. He sighed and shouldered both bags. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. He followed her retreating back down the centre of the plane.

In the terminal they passed quickly through customs and proceeded to the luggage carousel. They stood together, not looking at one another, as they waited for their bags. When the suitcases fell, she pointed to hers and turned expecting him to fetch them for her. He grabbed a cart and piled both sets of luggage on it. He followed her outside, leaving her to wait on the sidewalk as he went across the road to the parking garage to reclaim his car.

He pulled up in front of her and jumped out, popping the trunk release. She stood on the pavement tapping her foot. He realized she was waiting impatiently for him to open the door for her. He rushed forward pulling on the door handle. She shot him a look that could have meant thanks.

He finished loading the bags in the back and got back behind the wheel. "Where am I taking you?" He questioned.

"Duh, to your house, you idiot." She responded.

"Shannon, I don't think that's a good idea." He shook his head, not believing he actually had the nerve to contradict her.

"Too bad!" she looked out the side window.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. Reaching the house he pressed the button that opened the garage door and drove inside it. She held out her hand for the keys. He pulled them out of the ignition and dropped them into her waiting palm. He closed his eyes as she got out of the car and let herself into the house, eventually getting out of the car and retrieving their bags.

He found her in the kitchen with her head stuck in the fridge. "Don't you have anything to eat in this place that isn't healthy?" she shot over her shoulder.

He didn't bother to answer her, just walking across the living room to deposit her bags in the guest room. He moved to his room and put his suitcase on his bed, starting to unpack it.

By the time he got back out to the living room she'd poured herself a glass of wine and was talking to one of her friends on his phone.

"Shannon, I need to talk to you," he interrupted.

"Fuck off," she continued her conversation.

He grabbed the phone out of her hand and pushed the end button.

She looked at him outraged, "You asshole, I was talking to someone."

"And, now, you're going to talk to me," he replied calmly.

"What?" she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to continue.

"I need to talk to you about last night, about what happened, about what we did." He started.

She interrupted, "We didn't _do_ anything; nothing happed. You're going to tell your mother that you rescued me again and then we're going to go back to what it was."

"I can't do that," he said sadly, quietly.

"Too bad!" she said for the second time in the last hour.

"Please, Shan," he was close to tears, thinking back to the decision he'd made before the flight.

"Boone, don't call me Shan, you know how much I hate it," was all she said in response.

"You were right, you know, I _do _love you." He shook his head at the stupidity of it. She was so cruel, how could he love her?

"It doesn't matter, I don't love you." She cut him, not caring that her words were wounding him.

"No, I don't suppose you do." He picked up her glass and carried it to the kitchen to refill it for her.

By the time he got back to the living room she was on the phone again. He put her glass on the table in front of her and crossed the room. He entered the bathroom, thinking that there was really no reason to delay the inevitable.

He closed the bathroom door and pushed the lever to close the drain in the bathtub, turning the faucets on. Shannon, I love you, he thought as he removed his clothes. Shannon, I need you, he thought as he removed the blades from his razor. Shannon, please miss me, he thought as he sliced his wrists. He let his arms fall into the warm water and laid his head back against the tub.

It was almost an hour later before she found him, after looking in annoyance at her empty glass, wondering why he hadn't come out of the bathroom to refill it.


End file.
